


True Touch

by Telesilla



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-10
Updated: 2003-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would <i>you</i> notice first about Liam Neeson?</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Touch

Some people noticed his height first, and some his accent. Natalie claimed to have noticed his nose, and Pernilla had been overheard going on about his eyes. Ahmed had imitated his loping stride during the very first walk-throughs.

But the first thing Ewan noticed were the hands. How their hands met in a warm, dry handshake that was firm without any of that macho hand-crusher shit.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Uh, yeah, me too." Ewan looked down at their joined hands for just a moment, blinking a little at the sight of his own, not particularly small hand engulfed in the grip of that big paw. "Meeting you I mean."

And then he came back to reality and stopped sounding quite so inane, realizing that yeah, while this man had done _Schindler's List_, he'd also done _Darkman_, and so it wasn't that big a deal, meeting Liam Neeson. Not really.

It was only slowly, as the project progressed, that he noticed how tactile Liam was. Always touching someone or something. Working with Nick, even when he was on the sidelines watching Ray and Ewan spar, his hands constantly caressed his saber hilt. In script meetings with George and the rest of the cast, Liam would stroke his chin, fingers absently caressing his scruffy beard as he mulled over Qui-Gon Jinn's motivations.

And then there were the other actors, particularly in rehearsal. At first Ewan wasn't really sure if it was simply that Liam really was as tactile with people as he was with objects or if there was something more subtle at work; a gifted actor manipulating his director into seeing his own vision of the work.

Curiously, Ewan watched, and each time Liam's hand rested on Natalie or Pernilla's shoulder or Jake's head, it looked more and more natural, until you couldn't really imagine the character not communicating through touch. The few times George frowned, he and Liam would go stand apart from the scene and those big hands would gesture in the air while Liam tried to prove his point. He always won and finally George gave up.

So when that big hand lightly touched Ewan's shoulder as Qui-Gon told Obi-Wan that he still had much to learn, it seemed as if the movement had been in the script all along. And, when Ewan bent over the dying Master and that hand came up to brush away a tear in a gesture that was as much a farewell as it was a blessing, Ewan became Obi-Wan. He didn't have to work to bring the shuddering sobs as he cradled those big shoulders in his arms, they just happened. As George called "Cut!" Ewan knew that the scene would not require a reshoot.

* * * * * *

Now, in a dark theater, Ewan watches Liam die yet again, this time mourned over by a small boy. He smiles a little at the similarities of the scene to other deaths Liam has died, but mostly he's looking at those hands.

The hands that mapped the contours of his skin until he could only lie breathless and aching, never sure where the next touch would be.

The hands that drew patterns with ice cubes on his heated flesh as they tried to stay cool in a hotel room in Tunisia.

The hands that held a glass of excellent Italian red which dripped on Ewan' skin while Liam murmured Church Latin.

The hands that took their time opening him up, even though Ewan was all but begging for what he knew would follow.

The hands that rested on his shoulders and then swept him into a firm embrace just before they went in different directions when it was over.

There have been other hands since then, in particular a pair of swift restless hands that never seem to stay in one place whether they're fussing with a view finder, tapping impatiently at a lap top key board, or discovering the most intimate secrets of Ewan's body.

But Ewan will never forget the hands that taught him the difference between a casual caress and a true touch.

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> This was the very first RPS I ever wrote for the public. I'd done some stuff with [](http://padawanhilary.livejournal.com/profile)[**padawanhilary**](http://padawanhilary.livejournal.com/) that never saw the light, but this was the first time I sat down and deliberately wrote RPS. It was written in 52 minutes for a [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=contrelemontre)[**contrelemontre**](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=contrelemontre) challenge--touch, non-PWP, time limit 60 minutes. The film Ewan is watching later on is _Gangs of New York._
> 
>  
> 
> I posting it here because a) it's never been posted to this journal because back when I wrote it, I felt like I needed to separate RPS from FPS, something I really regret ever trying to do. And b) it's has been revisited by [](http://temve.livejournal.com/profile)[**temve**](http://temve.livejournal.com/) in her excellent story [Into Your Hands](http://temve.livejournal.com/360755.html). Go read it, because it's simply wonderful.


End file.
